‘How far have you got?’
‘There are plenty of books out there about London gangsters, Manchester, Glasgow — I thought maybe it was Edinburgh’s turn. There’s a lot in the newspaper archives. Court reports, that sort of thing.’
‘Have you mentioned any of this to Cafferty?’
‘I’ve written requesting an interview. No news back as yet.’
Unhappy at this diversion, James leaned forward in his chair. ‘Apart from that disturbance you mentioned, the one outside the club, did Rab seem worried about anything?’
‘He’d been a bit on edge, but lovely, too. One night when Liz thought he was at work, the pair of us went to dinner at Mark Greenaway’s. Wasn’t cheap, but we loved it. At the end of the meal, he gave me a rose.’ She nodded towards a bookcase next to the fireplace. On one of the deep shelves sat a slender glass vase with a rose protruding from it, long dead, its petals never having opened.
As she gazed at it, the tears started trickling again down Maxine Dromgoole’s cheeks.
After a further ten minutes, they were done, Dromgoole promising to drop by the station and make a formal statement the following day. The two detectives descended the stone stairs in silence, footsteps echoing. They were back in the car before James asked Fox what he thought.
‘I don’t sense she’s hiding anything.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. For nearly eight years she managed to hide the fact she was shagging a man who had another partner.’
‘Which might say more about him than it does about her.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Chatham was leading two lives and managing to keep the one hidden from the other.’
James nodded slowly. ‘So who knows what other secrets he had?’
‘Added to which, it’s funny how Turquand keeps cropping up — and now suddenly Cafferty’s in the mix.’
‘I only really know him by name.’
‘He’s like a cannier version of Joe Stark. Hasn’t managed to grace the front pages quite as often because he is canny.’
‘I’m more interested in this group who threatened Chatham. They’ve not appeared on any of the CCTV yet, have they?’
‘Only a matter of time, I’d think.’
James looked thoughtful. ‘Did we miss anything in there, Malcolm? Anything we should have spotted or asked?’
‘The only books on her shelves are ones she wrote herself,’ Fox replied. ‘Not sure what that says about her.’
‘Would Chatham have kept feeding stories to her, do you think? They met eight years back and he’s only been retired three...’ James was staring at Fox.
‘Are you telling me I have to buy her books?’
‘Only if you want to maintain your reputation for absolute thoroughness.’
‘When you put it like that,’ Fox said, starting the engine, ‘how can I resist?’
12
Joe Stark always dressed as if the clock had stopped in the 1950s — camel-hair coat, polished black shoes, suit with wide lapels and a mauve shirt with a tie of the same colour. He wasn’t tall, but he had heft. As usual, he was flanked by his two oldest friends, Walter Grieve and Len Parker, the three having been in a gang since primary school. Cafferty had his back to them, studying the grandeur of Glasgow City Chambers, but he sensed Stark’s approach and half turned, managing the briefest of nods before turning his attention back to the edifice in front of him.
‘Got to be honest, Joe, it’s a damn sight more impressive than its Edinburgh equivalent.’
‘Bigger and better, that’s the Glasgow way.’
‘Well,’ Cafferty said after a moment’s consideration, ‘showier anyway.’
‘If it’s sightseeing you’re after, I’m happy to oblige.’
Cafferty faced the man for the first time. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘I’m breathing.’
‘That makes two of us — against all the odds.’
‘That sounds like the Glasgow way, too.’ Stark saw that Cafferty was studying the statue next to them.
‘“Thomas Graham,”’ Cafferty read from the plaque below the statue, ‘“brilliant experimental chemist.” We’ve known a few of those in our time, eh, Joe?’ He began to chuckle, but Stark was staring hard at him.
‘Why are you here?’ he hissed.
‘I’m a pensioner like you. The buses are free, so why not use them?’
‘You came on the bus?’
Cafferty shook his head and Stark stifled a snort.
‘Someone lamped Darryl Christie,’ Cafferty stated.
‘The lad got careless.’
‘Maybe he thought he was untouchable.’
‘Nobody’s untouchable.’
‘You might have been wondering if it was my doing.’
‘While you’ve been thinking it was me, eh?’
‘But let’s suppose it was neither of us...’ Cafferty paused as a fire engine roared past, siren howling. ‘You’ve not exactly leapt to the lad’s defence.’
‘He hasn’t asked.’
‘Might make him seem weak if he did, but that wouldn’t stop you offering.’
‘Who’s saying I didn’t?’
‘It’s just a feeling I get.’ Cafferty waited for a response, but Stark remained silent. ‘Now if I was a betting man, Joe, I’d say you’re maybe being a bit cautious. And the reason for that could be you think Darryl’s about to be toppled. Nobody wants to be on the losing side when that happens. No point making unnecessary enemies, eh?’
‘Darryl’s a good kid.’
‘I won’t deny it. But even good kids make mistakes.’
‘What have you heard?’
‘Just whispers. I didn’t give them much credence until the attack.’
‘Not much of an attack, was it? Amateur hour, more like.’
‘Which is why we can rule one another out, but who does that leave? Reason I had Edinburgh to myself for so long is it’s more like a village than a city — better money to be made elsewhere.’
‘Lean times, Cafferty.’ Stark sniffed and shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. ‘Plenty of jackals watching the watering holes.’
‘Care to name names?’
‘Usual suspects — you know them as well as I do.’
Cafferty nodded slowly. He placed a hand on Joe Stark’s shoulder, fixing him with a look. ‘You really don’t have a clue, do you?’
Stark was still considering his response when Cafferty turned and walked away. There was a shiny silver Merc parked outside the City Chambers, and at his approach its liveried driver leapt out, holding open the rear door and closing it again after him. Stark’s trusted lieutenants, who had moved to a discreet distance during the dialogue, appeared at either of the boss’s shoulders.
‘What was that all about?’ Grieve asked.
‘A little fishing trip,’ Stark muttered, watching the car drive off.
‘And?’
‘And I need a drink.’
‘So which were you — the bait or the catch?’
Stark glowered at Grieve until the message got through. Then the three men, marching almost in line, Joe Stark half a pace ahead, started in the direction of Ingram Street.
‘This is nice,’ Clarke said uneasily, and not for the first time. She was seated at a banquette table in the Voodoo Rooms, just upstairs from the Café Royal, where she’d made the rendezvous with Rebus. It was eight in the evening and a blues band were due to play in the ballroom.
‘The devil’s own music,’ Rebus had said.
The bar area was busy and noisy — not the sort of place she would usually associate with her dinner companion.
‘My treat,’ Rebus said as their food arrived.
‘So why do I feel like the sacrificial offering?’